


Celebrate We Will

by inlovewithnight



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-04-04
Updated: 2007-04-04
Packaged: 2017-10-15 15:07:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/162047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inlovewithnight/pseuds/inlovewithnight





	Celebrate We Will

Lee had lived and served on battlestars long enough to know that the lag time between event and gossip about event running from CIC to flight deck was essentially nil. Dee wouldn’t talk; he knew her well enough and Gods knew had tested her far enough to be certain that she wouldn’t badmouth him anywhere but behind a sealed hatch, in the dead of off-shift, into her pillow. That was just who she was. One of the things that made her, more than likely, far better than he ever had deserved.

But the minute she stepped into the corridor with all of her things in her arms, that was it, any cover that had been drawn over ex-Major Adama’s marital problems for purposes of discretion and crew functionality was gone, shredded, burned. He stood there in the suddenly-empty, silent space, and realized that he couldn’t qualify that silence as something new. It had been increasingly quiet in here for a long time now, words drying up and dying out between the two of them until they were strangers, leaving only muttered apologies if his hand brushed her arm in the dark.

The shirt and trousers lacked the stiffness and heft of a uniform, even one that had been washed into grudging softness in these years on the run. The subtle unfamiliarity, faint wrongness on his skin, reminded him that this wasn’t the only time lately that a hatch had closed and left him at the mercy of the ship’s whispers. When he’d stepped out of the Admiral’s quarters with bare patches on his collar and an ache in his chest like he’d left behind the air in his lungs, word had probably crossed all decks before he’d even made it to the head and hit his knees, shaking on the floor.

He looked around the quarters without really focusing his eyes. They’d never been the same as the ones on Pegasus, where things were, if not good, at least steady. Comfortable. He and Dee both had been comfortable, and if either one wasn’t, it had never been anything important enough that they had to tell the other about it.

He should pack his own things, probably. Nothing left here. No right to this room. He was here on sufferance and as a courtesy as much as Romo, and just as unwelcome in the Admiral’s eyes. He needed to ask around for an empty berth on another ship and be ready to go the minute the trial ended, if not sooner. Who knew if the Admiral would send the marines to clear him out at any minute?

 _Dad, you don’t understand._

Gods, how many times had he thought that over the years? The silent mantra of his life.

He pushed the hatch open and stepped into the corridor. Let the marines come if they wanted, if the Admiral wanted. Nothing left that he would miss, anyway, really. It would probably be best if he started over with nothing in reality, instead of just figuratively. There was some symbolism there.

He walked without a destination, letting his gaze slide over one dull gunmetal-gray corridor after another, not sure if he wasn’t really seeing them but not missing a stride because he knew them by heart or because they were all the same. People faded out of his way as he passed, either not wanting to be too close to the man who sat beside Gaius Baltar or feeling some last sting of respect for a man they’d served beside, flown beside, fought beside for so long. Probably the first one, though he couldn’t think if they fell back from Romo like that. Romo wouldn’t notice, or care. He’d laugh at Lee for doing either.

He was moving on autopilot and muscle memory, so it wasn't all that strange to find himself at the ready room, hatch opening under his hand and eyes sweeping the rows of seats leading up to the CAG's podium. Not his anymore, either; not his duty, not his responsibility, not his pilots, and the lie of that is cold and familiar in his chest. They were always his, whether he had the title or not. When he was on the run with Zarek and the President, when he was holding the bridge of Pegasus, whenever and wherever his frakked-up luck took him, every time those birds went out he felt the same twist of worry. Something else that was always his to carry.

"You come to get your stuff?"

Helo sat behind the desk, his feet propped on the edge, a sheaf of papers in one hand and a bottle in the other. Heat and annoyance rushed to Lee's face; deck-crew brew and sloppiness and he wasn't sure which one bothered him more.

"I don't think I _have_ any stuff in here," he said, looking away and casting his gaze around the room. "I don't have all that much stuff, period."

"I hear that," Helo said, leaning back in the chair and taking a drink. Lee stared at the bottle and Helo followed his gaze, then rolled his eyes. "Oh, for crying out loud...it's _water_."

"Not any of my business." Lee shook his head and looked away again, at the empty chairs and the flight board that nobody had bothered to erase "Apollo" from yet. "Surprised you and Sharon aren't off somewhere celebrating your new gig."

"Hera's fussy," Helo said, setting the bottle down on the desk. "And I have paperwork to do. Besides, I go through jobs like Kara used to go through nuggets, so we don't really get all that excited about them anymore."

The easy way Kara's name slipped into the empty air and then went off like a bomb rocked both of them back, and they looked anywhere but at each other for the long moment it took to clear. "Anyway," Lee said finally, shaking his head and turning back to the hatch. "I don't know what I came down here for. Just taking a last look around, I guess."

"Are you enjoying it?"

Lee glanced back, eyebrows raising both at the question and the sudden edge to Helo's tone. "Am I enjoying...what? The sight of the ready room? I've been here before, actually."

Helo shook his head and reached for the bottle again, and for all that he said it was water, the long swallow he took was better suited to booze. "Are you enjoying being a martyr to your principles?"

"Frak you."

Helo laughed and swung his feet down to the floor, boots meeting the deck with a sharp thump. "Alone with your beliefs. Hell of a lot colder company than they make themselves out to be, huh?"

"It's not the same thing." Lee shook his head and slipped his hands into the pockets of his trousers, trying to hide the way they were clenching to fists. "Don't even go there, Karl."

"Really? What makes it so different?"

"I'm standing up for a principle of law. I'm doing what's right." The words were familiar in his throat; how many hours had it been, now, that he had to repeat them over and over again in his head to keep his certainty, and recite them over and over again by rote to try to get through to Dee or the Admiral or anyone else who looked at him with wide, betrayed eyes, like he'd spat on the uniform instead of just taking it off. "I'm not consorting with persons of questionable loyalty and I'm not aiding and abetting the enemy."

"Oh, going for the formal language. Feel like I should be saluting." Helo took another drink and directed his answer to the bottle. "And go tell anybody in that courtroom...go tell Lieutenant Gaeta...go tell Duck and Nora that Gaius Baltar's not the enemy."

"Go to hell, Karl."

"You're missing the point, Lee. You always do." He looked up then, meeting Lee's eyes, and instead of angry he just looked tired, in an aching way that Lee knew well. "Hell's what you make of it, right? And what other people make of it. So you're out on your ass and your dad's done with you and your wife's walked out and you won't even have a job a few days from now, when they put Baltar out the airlock and throw a party to celebrate. And you think you can crawl off and lick your wounds and wait them all out, and one of these days they'll realize that you were right and they were wrong and they'll call you a hero in hindsight. Maybe even grovel a little and beg forgiveness. Tell you a secret, Lee? Never gonna happen. Nobody ever admits they were wrong, nobody _ever_ even hints that you _might_ have been right, and you never get to be a hero as long as they need a guilty party on the books." He paused, smiling slightly. "You want to write this down? Because you're going to have a lot of time to think about it."

Lee stared at him for a moment, throat too tight to manage words at first. "For an orator, you're one hell of a second-seat Raptor jockey."

Helo laughed. "Yeah. Okay. What do I know, right? I wouldn't listen to me either."

"Make sure you put Racetrack and Skulls at the bottom of the rotation. They're due for a break."

"Got it." Helo picked up the sheaf of papers again and tapped them against the desk until the edges lined up neatly. "No rest for the Vipers, though. Not since we're two down."

"What was I supposed to do, huh?" His voice broke, and he cursed himself under his breath. "It's the _right_ thing, Gods damn it."

"I'm not arguing with you." Helo put the papers down again and looked up, shrugging slightly. "I'm just saying that it doesn't matter. I was doing the right thing too. And look how much anyone cared."

Lee opened his mouth and then closed it again, biting down on his tongue. They could argue the difference between the right thing and the right thing from now until forever and it wouldn't make any kind of a difference. "Damned either way, I guess," he said finally, turning to the hatch. "Take good care of things around here, Helo."

"I'll do my best." Lee wanted to glance back, wanted to see what expression went with the words, or if Helo had already turned away, but he ducked his head and kept his eyes on the deck instead. Over. Done with. Not his anymore.

He pulled the hatch tight behind him and looked down the corridor. Time to go spend a few hours with his books, or his client. Even if the verdict was already set in stone, he was going to give the trial his best effort. Both because it was the right frakking thing to do, and so that none of the bastards would get the satisfaction of saying he hadn't.  



End file.
